


Witness

by beeyouteaful



Category: British Actor RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial
Genre: Action, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Espionage, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:58:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeyouteaful/pseuds/beeyouteaful
Summary: A bakery owner gets caught off guard by some business going on in the alley behind her shop... But in the world of crime bosses, there can be no witnesses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen.  
> Listen.  
> I know I have two other Jaguar!Tom fics in progress... It's just... 
> 
> You don't have all the facts!  
> [Which are?]  
> I love him.
> 
> I got this idea the other day and I really need to write it. I hope you like it!

I lugged the heavy—and putrid—garbage bag to the alley behind the bakery. Normally, I wouldn’t mind so much, but today was the anniversary of the opening, and our regulars showed up in flocks for our celebratory donuts and free coffee—which most of them didn’t even drink and meant the trash bags were _filled_ with coffee and hours-old cream.

“Don’t rip, don’t rip, don’t rip,” I chanted under my breath. The bag balanced on my back as I waddled toward the dumpster. “Don’t… _rip!_ ” I grunted and tossed the bag in. As it hit the bottom, I let out a little celebratory laugh of triumph. _Crisis averted._ I wiped my questionably wet hands on my apron with a grimace.

Footsteps scurried into the other end of the alley. Four men, all suited and stout and… ugly… cowered with their hands up against the brick wall of the bakery. I watched on, confused from behind the dumpster. What were four businessmen doing back here?

A much taller, much more handsome man followed them in. His stride was commanding—powerful—knee weakening. I couldn’t see well from my place, but his features were just as striking as the contrast between him and the other men.

I watched as the taller man paced before the others. His suit was absolutely stunning and in the deepest black I’d ever seen. It fit him like a second skin, and he wore it with confidence. He could’ve been a model for Armani or Gucci or Ralph Lauren.

_Consider my interest piqued._

“What am I to do about this?” Oh, god. He had the most gorgeous voice. It sounded like honey poured into hot tea on an early morning; like sitting in a plush, velvet armchair; like the gentle caress of a dear lover.

“Mr. Hiddleston, we—”

“Shut up. I told you I’d only give you one chance to get it right. Obviously, you failed, or you wouldn’t be here right now.” He stopped at the center of their lineup. “I’ve no need for flight risks.”

Four muted gunshots and four thuds.

“Ohmygod…” I breathed.

His head whipped toward the sound of my voice. I gasped and backed toward the entrance to the alley to make my escape, but he stalked toward me.

“No, no, n-nono, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t see anything, I—”

I collapsed to the ground, barely registering the scrape of pavement against my knees. My entire body shook with fear. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He was coming at me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

My breathing stuttered as I tried to take in air.

“P-please, don’t—don’t—don’t _kill_ me!”

He sighed and lifted me to my feet.

“Come.”

“Wha…”

His leather-gloved hand yanked me toward him as he muttered something that sounded like _I don’t have time to deal with this_. He dragged me out of the alley with his firm arm around my back and opened the door to a car. I didn’t have time to notice much of it before he shoved me into the backseat.

“No, please, I won’t tell anyone!”

The door slammed in my face, and he walked away toward the bodies. I tugged at the handle, to no avail. I couldn’t peel my gaze from him as he slowly loaded each body into the boot. Tears trailed down my cheeks as my breathing turned ragged. I couldn’t get a steady hold of myself, and the air inside the car seemed thinner and thinner as my panting fogged up the tinted window.

I heard the boot latch, and the driver’s side door opened. The tall man folded himself down into the seat and started the engine.

“P-lease… just let me go.”

“You need to steady your breathing.”

“I won’t tell anyone what I saw, I promise, I—”

“You’re going to pass out!” he barked. “Breathe! Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.” I sat in silence for a moment and realized I had held in my breath all together. He sighed and turned around to face me. Black spots formed in my eyes, and I couldn’t quite see his face. “Come on. Breathe. In, two, three, four. Hold it, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Hold again, two, three, four.”

I listened to him, and breathed with him. For some reason, his coaching was soothing. Probably because, logically, no man would spend time trying to get me to calm down if he were just going to kill me—not that it made up for tossing me in a strange car at the end of an alleyway. He turned back around and started the car before my vision cleared.

The engine purred to life like a cat, and my stomach dropped into itself. That was it. I’d been picked up by a murderer and nobody would even know. I sank back into the seat as he drove off, focusing on my breathing.

A sharp turn out of the adjacent alley threw me against the door, which elicited a pained groan from me as my shoulder crashed into it.

“Sorry…” he muttered and sped down the street. “Put on your seat belt.”

My trembling hands found the belt behind me, and I slowly brought it to my hip and clicked it into place.

“Why…” I began, tongue dry and heavy as lead. His eyes flickered up into the mirror at me. “Why did you kill them?” His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and his gaze shot back to the road.

“They owed a debt they couldn’t pay.”

“You killed them over money?”

“Not that kind of debt.”

I closed my mouth with a click. What the hell did that mean? _Not that kind of debt_. What else could it possibly be?

It felt like ages before we made it to the outskirts of London. I hadn’t paid attention to where we were going, as I was having a _slight_ internal crisis, but soon, city turned to suburb, and suburb turned to country.

“Where are we going?”

“I have to… _dispose_ of them.”

“...Why did you take me?”

“No witnesses.”

“I told you I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“I can’t trust your word.”

We came across an abandoned farmhouse in the distance. The car rocked along the dirt path, and I was thankful that I listened when he told me to put on my seat belt. As we approached the house and parked, the man started to drum his fingers against the wheel in thought. He turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. His other hand slipped to the door handle and popped it open.

“You’ll wait in the car while I work.” He turned to face me again, and it was then I saw his piercing blue eyes beneath hooded lids for all their terrifying glory. Though he was tired, they shined in the dim cab light. There was nothing threatening in them—in fact, he seemed slightly… upset?

No, that wasn’t it.

Tense, maybe.

I stared at him, probably far too long judging by his eye roll as he exited the car.

The locks clicked into place as he opened the boot again. Couldn’t I just unlock it from the insi—nope. No lock button on the doors. Never mind.

The entire car bounced as he removed each body. One. Two. Three. Four. _Thunk_. I watched out the window while the man dragged the dead men over to an innocuous shed. He threw open the large, rotting, wooden door and set off to hide the bodies. It was too dark for me to see anything inside, but I imagined it used to be an animal house. There were bales of hay covered by an old tarp just next to the doors, a sawhorse that had definitely seen better days, and a wood pile beneath another old tarp.

“I need to get away from here…” But how?

_Kick the window out._

I unbuckled my seatbelt and shifted to lay on my left side, curling my right leg into my chest to get ready. _Now or never…_ As hard as I could, I kicked the window—once, twice, three times. It didn’t budge, but my leg was _fucked_. I cried out as my shin and ankle throbbed with excruciating electric pain.

Just as tears pricked in my eyes again, the man opened his car door and slipped back inside. He turned and looked at me in my compromising position, quirking an eye at me.

“What are you doing?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Out of the two of us, which one has the gun?”

I inhaled sharply and averted my gaze, biting through the pain.

“Kicked the window,” I growled.

“Bulletproof glass,” he answered coolly, as if it didn’t even phase him that I tried to escape. “I told you to stay put. From now on, you’ll listen to me, or you’ll just get hurt worse.”

“Is that a promise?” I spat, voice saturated with sarcasm.

“A threat.”

I tried to reposition myself so I was upright, but he tutted and motioned for me to stay down as he started the car. His warning echoed in my head, and I obeyed.

“Who are you?”

“That depends. Who do you want me to be?”

_What the fuck?_

“I _want_ you to let me out of this damned car.”

“In the middle of nowhere?”

“Take me back to my fucking bakery!”

“Oh, the little baker has a mouth on her…”

“You’re a prick.”

“Careful. I might just take you up on your request and let you out of the car here at this abandoned house in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll just walk until someone finds me.”

“There are plenty of unsavory people in the countryside.”

“Are you saying you’re _not_ unsavory?”

“I haven’t hurt you at all. I haven’t touched you beyond a friendly—“

“Friendly?!”

“... _Civil_ arm around the shoulder. I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

“You threatened me with force!”

“To save both our asses. Do you know what kind of people would come after you if they found out you saw me tonight? You ought to thank me.”

“I’d sooner die.”

“That can be arranged.”

I pouted and kicked the back of his seat with my good leg. An amused chuckle dripped from his lips like warm caramel. He turned back to the front of the car and put it in gear, driving us away from the house and off to another undisclosed location.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t normally update so quickly (two days in a row) but this fic just has me writing like crazy.

“Hey…”

My shoulder groaned in pain, and I shifted onto my back.

“Darling, come on.”

 _‘Darling…’_ I thought. It sounded so sweet and inviting. _Mmm…_ _Five more minutes, baby…_

“I don’t have all night.”

My eyes fluttered open, and I was met with a sideways view of my kidnapper. My breath caught in my throat, and I scurried back onto my elbows.

“You drugged me.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You fell asleep on the way. We’re here now. Get out.”

“You have the doors locked from the inside.”

“Then allow me to get the door for you,” he grumbled.

“What a gentleman…” I murmured back in annoyance.

He rolled his eyes at me before getting out and pulling my door open. I scooted forward and set my feet on the gravel. He gave me a once over and frowned at my legs.

“Your knees…”

“Huh?” I glanced down and saw the scabs already forming.

“I’m sorry.”

He was _sorry_? He murdered four men in cold blood in front of me and then threw me in the back of his car, and he was sorry for my _knees?_

His eyebrow quirked up at me, and I shook myself out of the confusion and stood to my feet.

Except, I’d forgotten about my busted leg.

I cried in pain as the pressure of my weight practically snapped my ankle. The man’s arms shot out in a second to save me from falling again.

“I’ve got you.” My eyes burned with tears as I gripped his shoulders. It was then I smelled his cologne for the first time. It was clean and simple and manly. I looked up at him, and he looked about as scared as I felt; his eyes shined with something I couldn’t quite place. It was almost... gentle. “Can you stand?”

“Clearly not!” I snapped, trying to shake myself of whatever feeling had just washed over me while looking at him.

“I meant with me holding you up,” he huffed. “Here, just put your arm around my shoulder.” I did as he asked, but the pain was still too much for me.

“I-I can’t.”

He sighed to himself, “Best laid plans…”

The world tilted around me as he swept me into his arms bridal-style. My eyes blew wide with the gesture and our sudden closeness. _This is not how I’d imagined my first “sweep-me-off-my-feet” encounter with a man._ We watched each other for a moment before he pushed the car door closed with his foot.

“Dry your tears, darling.”

There was that damned pet name again. And in such a soft, concerned voice... I could get whiplash trying to follow this man’s capricious tones. And he surely wasn’t going to win me over by being nice now.

“Please, just let me go home.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

He carried me up a white, stone staircase to the front door of a mansion. He managed to open it without dropping me and stepped through the threshold. I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was inside; it looked like it could be a museum or a film set, but it definitely didn’t look like the kind of place a murderer lived.

“We need to tend to your ankle.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’ve nothing against you.”

“You. _Kidnapped_. Me.”

“How many times are you going to bring that up?”

“How many times until you let me go?!”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and sewed his lips into a hard line. God, he was absolutely insufferable. Without another word, he climbed the red-carpeted staircase to the second floor. _At least he’s strong…_

As we made our way down the hall, I could feel him trying to hold back from making me more angry. He wanted to say more—even seemed _desperate_ to say more—but he kept his mouth shut.

His right arm shifted beneath my knees, and he knocked on a door I didn’t realize we came upon.

“Come in,” a voice called from inside.

“Can you open it?” he asked back.

“Why?”

“Just—please, Mark.”

_Mark?_

It was then that I realized I still didn’t know my captor’s name, or what was even going on, but the door opened before I could ask.

“What the hell, man?” Mark asked.

“Long story.”

“Not that long,” I muttered.

The bald man looked at me curiously before stepping back to let us in. He wore nice, dark slacks and a white button down with the top two buttons undone. He looked as if he’d been working hard at something at his desk. His office was classic. Solid mahogany desk, big windows, houseplants, bookshelves, dark wallpaper. It definitely fit in with the rest of the house.

“Ben’s not gonna like this.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Then why did you bring her here? Who even is she?”

“I didn’t have a choice! No witnesses!”

I watched their verbal tennis match in awe. It was like I wasn’t even there. If only my ankle wasn’t fucked, I could’ve run for it.

“You couldn’t even do _one_ job without getting caught,” Mark laughed. “By a… barista?”

“Baker,” I corrected.

“By a baker!”

The other man’s nostrils flared with boiling anger.

“Would you just help me patch her up?” He struggled to sound composed through gritted teeth.

“Sure. Only because she’s beautiful.”

 _Whoa! What?!_ I blinked in shock and eyed Mark incredulously. _Did he really just say that?_

“And because I _knew_ you couldn’t do something right on your own.”

The tension in the air was so palpable, you could cut it with a knife. My kidnapper looked poised to chew Mark’s head off.

_Where the fuck am I?_

After several minutes of snark, Mark cleaned my bloodied knees and set my ankle with a bandage.

“What’s your name, love?” he asked as he stood from his position at my feet and handed me my shoes. I didn’t say anything. The less these men knew about me, the better. “Shy? That’s alright. Perhaps Hiddleston here can tend to you now.”

 _Hiddleston!_ That’s right. That’s what the other men in the alleyway called him. He scowled at Mark and then looked to me, expression softer.

“Can you stand?” He held out a hand for me, which I reluctantly took. He was quick to curl his body around me so I wouldn’t fall this time. I had to admit, this guy sure went a long way to make sure I didn’t hurt myself any more. “Come, let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh, I’d bet you’d like that,” Mark teased.

“Shut up.”

We made our way to another room at the other end of the hallway, me hobbling along next to him. Hiddleston opened the door and ushered me inside. I gasped at the sight of the four-poster bed in the middle of the right wall. There were floor-to-ceiling windows with long, dramatic, cream curtains; a vanity with a plush stool; a sofa and armchair next to a tall bookshelf. It was like something out of a period drama.

“This is the guest room,” he said. “You’ll stay here until I figure out what to do about this.”

“But…” I began, still enamored by the décor. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“I know. I’ll figure that out, too.”

I turned to him and gripped his suit lapels to make him look me in the eyes.

“Just let me go,” I pleaded. “It’ll be easier for both of us.”

“Drop it!” he snapped. “I’ve told you already that you’re not leaving!”

He ripped my arms off him and nudged me further inside the room before slamming the wooden door shut and locking it from the outside.

“Are you serious?!” I yelled.

There was no answer. I dropped my shoes next to me, pounded on the door, and yelled for him some more, but he never came back. I sighed and leaned against the door, thinking of how I could get around this. I limped over to the nearest window, but there was no way to open it. Purely decorative. There was another door at the left side of the room. I pushed it open to reveal an ensuite bathroom. _At least that’s a problem I don’t need solved._

I flicked on the light and shut the door, looking at my goblin-self in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my makeup a wreck, and my spirits were anything less than high. What was I supposed to do? Was he just going to keep me locked up here for the rest of my life like bloody Rapunzel? Surely someone at the bakery noticed I was missing. There were cameras in the alley, too. There would be a search for me in no time.

My eyes fell to the back of the door where a fluffy, white robe hung. _Hm. Maybe a bath would do me some good._

I stripped and piled my dress and apron on the countertop and turned on the tap to the clawfoot tub.

Of _course_ it was a clawfoot tub…

I searched around the cabinets and closet for some bubble bath but only found sweet pea oil.

“This’ll have to do.”

As the scent filled the air, I pulled off my hair tie and shook out my hair. I could smell coffee grounds and donuts as strands fell into my face. _Smells like home._ I frowned and brushed away those thoughts as best as I could before perching myself on the toilet. I leaned down and unwrapped my ankle, rolled the bandage, and set it aside for later.

The warm water hugged me and calmed my nerves as I slipped into it. God, how I’d missed baths. Ever since moving to a new flat, I only had a standing shower. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat in a tub after a long day.

My muscles went lax as I let myself sink beneath the surface of the water. Everything was always calmer there than outside. I let the air out of my nose and sat up, my soaked hair now clinging to my face. There were multiple bottles of shampoo and conditioner on a little shelf next to me, so I picked one at random and massaged the shampoo onto my scalp. It felt so nice to pamper myself. Today was absolutely ridiculous; the least I could do was let myself feel just a little bit like a princess, even if only for a few minutes. I realized the shampoo also smelled like sweet pea, which made me oddly happy. Everything in here matched. Perhaps it really _was_ a guest room.

As I finished washing, and the water turned cold, I pulled out the stopper and stood to my feet. My ankle still hurt, but it felt better than before, which was a step up. The shag bath mat was a welcome sensation on my pruney feet, and I wrapped myself up in the robe and turned out the light.

With no sign that Hiddleston had been back in the room, I pulled back the duvet on the bed and snuggled into the surprisingly soft mattress. Though I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, all the adrenaline had finally drained from my body, and I melted into the bed like it was my own.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time I woke from my dreamless sleep, the rare English sun warmed my back. I stretched beneath the fluffy, down duvet and snuggled deeper into the pillows. This was absolute bliss. When did my bed ever feel so comfortable?

I begrudgingly opened my eyes to get ready for the day, but a feeling of pure dread filled my chest when I realized that I _wasn’t_ in my bed. This was the guest room. In a mansion. Where my _kidnapper_ supposedly lived.

“Fuck me…” I rubbed my hands over my face and picked the sleep from my eyes. My ankle was still sore, but I decided to sit up and test if I could walk. Holding onto the post at the foot of the bed, I eased onto my feet. _Definitely need the bandage_.

And to think, none of this would’ve happened if I’d just waited to take the garbage out five minutes later.

After I wrapped my ankle and freshened myself up, I shuffled over to the bedroom door and tested the knob. My heart skipped a beat when it turned all the way around and the door opened. _It opened!_ I checked both sides of the hallway to make sure Hiddleston wasn’t going to tackle me for leaving, and once I saw it was clear, I tiptoed down the stairs to the front door. I could almost smell the fresh air of freedom.

“What are you doing?”

My breath hitched and my heart leapt from my chest. Did I dare turn around?

“If you’re looking for Tom, he’s probably out for his morning run.”

_Tom?_

I turned to face Mark, who was holding a mug of something and leaning against the corridor frame. He wore a black turtleneck and slacks, but was sans shoes.

“You must be starving.”

“I’m fine.”

“Nonsense. Come have some breakfast.”

He watched me hesitate, shrugged, and then turned in the other direction. My hand on the door handle tensed as I tried to open it, but the thing wouldn’t budge. Neither did the other handle, and there were no deadbolt locks visible anywhere. At this rate, I’d have to jump out a broken window to escape.

I sighed in defeat and followed Mark to the bright, naturally lit kitchen where he was already making a second mug of coffee. It smelled absolutely wonderful, and I felt my back relax. _Crazy how smells can do that._

I glanced out the window next to me and watched a willow tree sway in the soft breeze. If I weren’t in such a bind, I’d probably wander around the place and admire its beauty. There was no denying this place had an elegant charm.

“Have a seat, love.” He motioned to the stools behind the island counter. As I sat, I was suddenly aware of his pet name and the fact that I was only in a bathrobe. A heated blush crawled up my neck and over my cheeks. Mark leaned across the counter and set the mug before me with a smirk. He could totally tell I was uncomfortable. This was a nightmare.

“Thanks.”

“Y’know… I don’t know why he didn’t just off you, too.” I choked on my sip, and my grip on the mug could’ve shattered it. He smirked wolfishly. “But I can see we’re all the better for it.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Been called worse, love,” he purred before taking his mug and leaving the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and stood from my stool, rushed to the sink, and poured the rest of the coffee down the drain. There was no way I was going to drink something made by that asshole.

My stomach growled as I rummaged through the cupboards for some tea. There had to be _something_ in this godforsaken English kitchen.

“Can I help you find something?”

I jumped at the sound of a different man’s voice, though softer and much less intimidating. I turned to find another bald man—much older and shorter than Mark.

“I, uh… was just looking for some tea?”

He chuckled and stepped into the room. I watched as he pulled open a drawer next to the sink. There were dozens of boxes of different teas to choose from.

“Are you… _here_ with Mark?”

I scoffed. “Hardly.”

“With Thomas, then.”

 _Should I tell him?_ I didn’t know who this man was; he could be another hitman who would sooner kill me than help me with a morning tea.

“Yes… I—”

Just as I was about to flounder for an explanation, the man in question bounded in from the hall.

“Ah, Ben!” He screeched to a halt in the doorway, looking between us with an air of… relief?  “Good morning.” He rounded the counter with amazing speed, though I don’t know what else I’d expect from a runner. His arm snaked around my waist, and the smell of his sweat clouded around us—though surprisingly, it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever smelled… “Morning, darling.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a _guest_ , Thomas,” the other man—Ben—mused incredulously.

“Didn’t want to wake you last night.” He squeezed my hip as if to tell me to play along.

“Uh, yeah, we got in pretty late.” I extended my hand, albeit hesitantly. “I’m (y/n).” He took it and squeezed, almost like a father would.

“(Y/n). Lovely to meet you. How long will you be staying?”

“Uh, well… I’m not quite sure yet.”

“Her flat is being checked for asbestos,” Tom smoothed. “They may have to demolish it, so there’s no telling how long that could take. I thought she might _appreciate_ it if she stayed with us for the time being. It’s the least I could do for being the one to help her choose that flat in the first place!” He chuckled lightly and tucked me into his side like a long-time friend.

“Oh, certainly… How do you two know each other? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned a (y/n), Thomas…”

“We met at university,” he began. “We were in the same drama group.”

“Yeah… he was the Macbeth to my Lady!”

“Well, I hope you make her stay here enjoyable. Just don’t let her get into trouble.”

Tom chuckled a bit nervously.

“Yes, well, I should probably make us some breakfast, huh darling?”

“Perhaps you should,” I quipped. Ben laughed.

“I like her,” he told Tom. Then he turned to me. “Stay as long as you like.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, I shoved Tom away from me.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“It had to look convincing.”

“I’m not going to stay here and play your little games,” I spat. “I have a life! I have my own bloody business!”

“You should’ve thought of that before—”

“Absolutely not!” I hissed. “You don’t get to blame _me_ for _you_ kidnapping me and bringing me to whatever this place is.” His jaw flexed. “You don’t get to blame _me_ for this. I never asked to see you _kill_ four people in the alley behind _my_ bakery.” My breath hitched, and I turned away from him. “You… you _killed_ …” My elbows crashed to the marble countertop, and I held my face in my hands. This was _not_ happening.

I heard him sigh behind me before he moved to the other side of the kitchen. I could hear him shuffling around with my mug. Was he… making me tea? My fingers slotted against my face, and I turned to peek at him through the gaps.

“What—are you—”

“I haven’t really given you much explanation…”

“Yeah, really…” I murmured. He turned on the faucet to fill an electric kettle.

“I feel as if it won’t do much good to try. First impressions can be dastardly things.” He motioned to the stools, and I sat back down again, suddenly exhausted. “However, I’ll allow you three questions about me. Then, you’ll drop it.”

“Are you actually serious?”

“That’s one.”

I glared at him. “Don’t play any cheeky genie tricks. I want actual, honest answers.”

He raised his arms out to his sides like a scarecrow.

“I’m an open book.”

I rolled my eyes and thought for a moment while he finished making the tea. As he slid the mug toward me, I decided on my first question—out of _two,_ now.

“Why did you kill those men? And don’t be cryptic like last night. Give me the real reason.”

His brows furrowed as he thought. Was this really that hard?

“We make sure the scum of London don’t run amok with unwarranted power. They were four business associates of ours—Ben, Mark and I. They cheated us out of information.”

I sipped on my tea, which was surprisingly good for what it was worth—peach and mint with honey and lemon. He was still keeping something from me, and I could feel it, but before I could interrupt, he spoke again.

“Those men… they were corruption at its core. Men with ins to parliament that can sway elections... Men who abuse their families… Men who make money off keeping slimy predators in charge at boarding schools… _Scum_. We had made a deal with them. They were going to give us a list of several men that have been embezzling from charity funds in exchange for not ousting them from their _prestigious_ positions… At least, not right away. They didn’t hold up their end.” _So he has a heart._

“That doesn’t explain why you kidnapped me.”

“This was the one job that was supposed to be seamless. Quick and painless. I staked out your alley for weeks to prepare; I knew when the busiest hours were. I knew when you locked up for the night. I knew when your employees took smoke breaks out back. I would’ve been able to get in and out without getting caught had you only been 5 minutes later to your dumpster.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “If I had let you go, you would’ve reported it to the police. You would’ve gotten me in deep shit with Ben.”

“You could’ve just told me that…” I breathed.

“Could I? Could I have told you when you were cowering against the brick wall? When you were hyperventilating in the back of my Jag? You were a wreck. There was no way I’d be able to reason with you.”

He had a point. But that didn’t excuse his actions.

“I’m not responsible for this.”

“No, but you would’ve thrown a bigger wrench into it if I hadn’t intervened.”

I wrapped my hands around my mug, the hot porcelain burning into my palms. It was the only thing keeping me from slapping him across the face.

“Next question.”

What to ask a murderer? _Why didn’t you kill me, too?_ No, too accusatory. _When will you let me go?_ Already tried every variation of that last night.

“Why can’t you just tell Ben the truth?”

He sighed again and leaned his forearms against the counter. This was clearly a touchy subject for him.

“If he knew…” He huffed out a laugh of disbelief. “I’d lose my position. I worked so hard to get where I am… to get them to take me seriously. Mark always thought Ben was a fool for taking me under his wing. It’s not that I’m bad at what I do… I’m the youngest. I’m supposed to be the _prodigal son_ he never had. He can’t know I messed up like this after he’s trusted me.”

“He seems nice…”

“Because he doesn’t know that you know what we do. You’re just my uni classmate. You don’t know what I did.”

Oh _shit_ … I could totally blackmail him. I had the upper hand.

“Well. I mean…” I began. “For now.” Tom shot me a terrifying glare. I stood to my full height. “You’re keeping me here against my will. Mark knows. I know. Who’s to say whether or not Ben finds out…”

His nostrils flared in anger. I backed up toward the door.

“I’m not sure if you understand who you’re dealing with,” he hissed and grabbed my wrist as I tried turning away, “but I won’t have Ben knowing about this little arrangement. You _will_ keep your mouth shut unless you have a _dying_ desire to regret it.”

“You can’t intimidate me that easily.” Except, he totally could. _Let him think you’re not afraid of him._ I ripped my arm away and grabbed the door knob, but he was too fast for me. His hand squeezed over my own, crushing my palm against the carved glass.

“I’ll keep you locked away indefinitely if that’s what it takes to keep you quiet. Don’t think I won’t. I can make you the most miserable woman on the planet.”

“Oh, we’re _well_ past that,” I snapped. “Don’t ask me for any more favors to impress your boss.” I body-checked him to push him away from me, spun on my heel, and stomped out of the kitchen, not stopping until I made it back to the guest room.

What the _hell_ was the matter with this guy? How could he go from being a murderer, to a kidnapper, to someone worried about me enough to clean my wounds, to some creep that locked me in a room, to someone who needed me to play it cool around his boss, to a psychotic creep? Tom Hiddleston was a whirlwind of a man, and I couldn’t stand it.


	4. Chapter 4

By nightfall, I had fallen back asleep in the plush guest bed, but woke to a grumbling stomach. The room was darker than I thought it would be, but then again, we were in the middle of nowhere—the only light from outside was the light of the moon and stars. I sat up and stretched my arms over my head, then reached for the lamp on the bedside table. As the room filled with a soft yellow glow, I sighed and flopped back onto the bed.

My eyes traced the pattern of flowers on the ceiling molding, around and around the room. I must’ve done that for at least 15 minutes before I grew frustrated and sat up again. What was I supposed to do here for the rest of my life?

A knock at the door startled me, but before I could get up, Tom walked in with a tray of food. I watched him take measured steps toward the night stand.

“I brought you dinner… I wasn’t sure what you liked, but there’s a bit of everything.” He set the tray down, and I saw grapes, a sandwich, spaghetti, roasted potatoes, grilled chicken, and carrots. My stomach growled furiously for not having eaten since the day before. Tom held up his left arm to show off a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt draped across it. “And some fresh clothing. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s all I can spare at the moment.”

I shifted on the mattress and tentatively took a grape from the tray.

“I… Uh… I know you’re not going to let me go…” The sweetly sour fruit burst in my mouth, and the juice was the most refreshing thing I’d had in a while. “But I can’t just wear your old sweats for the rest of my life.”

Tom tossed the pants and shirt onto the bed and then sat next to them.

“I know. I’ll go out tomorrow to get some things. Clothes, shoes, toiletries… Anything else?”

“What about my shop?”

“What about it?”

“Would you just let me call my staff to let them know I’m okay? I won’t do anything stupid.” He eyed me with doubt. “If they don’t hear from me, they’ll call the police. And then what was kidnapping me even good for?”

I quirked an eyebrow up at him as a challenge. He knew I was right, and he sighed.

“You’ll put it on speakerphone. Tell them something came up with a relative. You’ll be gone for a while.”

I nodded, and he shifted to pull his phone out of his back pocket. I reached for it, but he angled himself away.

“I’ll dial it. What’s the number?”

I told him, and we waited as it rang. I scooted forward onto my knees and sat eagerly next to him.

_“Treats and Geeks, this is Trish.”_

Tom mouthed _Treats and Geeks_ in comical disbelief, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“Trish, it’s (y/n).”

 _“OHMYGOD, are you okay?! Lewis!!”_ There was a clatter and then a huff. _“Sorry, I dropped the phone… Lewis, it’s her!”_

“Trish, please, I—“ Tom leaned forward in warning. “I’m alright. Just take a breath and put Lewis on.”

There was shuffling on their end before he spoke.

_“(Y/n)?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

_“Where the hell are you? The bakery was totally unlocked, the lights were still on, your phone’s here on the counter. You have Trish in panic mode.”_

I chuckled at that.

“It’s a long story, but… my great aunt died, and my family needed help with the funeral… I… I’m not sure when I’ll be back. _If_ I’ll be back.”

_“If?! You can’t be serious.”_

“I wish I wasn’t…” I looked up at Tom again. His brow was furrowed and his eyes looked… sad. “Take care of the shop for me while I’m gone. You have all the keys and books and numbers. I’m sorry to have left without any warning, but it was urgent.”

_“(Y/n), this is fucking mental.”_

“I know… I’m really sorry.”

 _“No,_ I’m _sorry for your loss.”_

“We all knew it was coming… I mean, not so soon… but she was getting there.”

_“Do you want me to bring you anything? Your phone, some food—”_

“No! No, that’s very generous of you. Uh…”

Tom muted the phone.

“Tell him a friend will come get your things on his way from London.”

I nodded, and he unmuted it.

“My… friend from uni will stop by the shop and pick up my things on his way here. His name is Tom. He’s really tall and blonde.”

_“Is he single?”_

“Trust me, you don’t want him…” Tom rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Lewis.”

_“I hope everything works out, (y/n).”_

“Yeah, me too. Good luck.”

Tom ended the call, and I flopped back onto the bed and held my face in my hands at the thought of throwing this on Lewis and Trish so suddenly. This wasn’t fair to them. This wasn’t fair to _me_.

“My flat is on top of the bakery. Lewis can give you my keys and you can get my clothes. Just throw anything you can in my luggage.”

“I… Okay. Anything else you need? You don’t have a cat or anything, do you?”

I shook my head.

“Just some plants, but you can let them die. They won’t do me any good here.”

The bed shifted, and I spread my fingers to look up at him. His eyes were still sad and his mouth was turned down into a tight pout.

“Eat something.”

“You didn’t poison it, did you?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Darling… You’re too stubborn for poison.”

He gave a cheeky wink and left me to myself again—remembering, of course, to lock the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

It felt like all I was doing was sleeping. But then again, what else was there for me to do? This morning, I woke to a dreary day. Rain tapped on the windows of the guest room. Tom didn’t wake me before he left, but I knew he was off to go get some of my things from the shop. He’d left me a small breakfast of toast and tea, as well as a book from the shelves—as if that was supposed to make any of this less shitty, especially considering I couldn’t focus long enough to read. I ate the toast and closed the semi-sheer, cream curtains of the four poster bed before snuggling into the blankets again.

I cried for the first time since the incident. I would _really_ never see my shop again. Everything I’d worked so hard for… gone from my grasp in the span of five minutes. He didn’t understand that this was my entire life’s purpose. I was meant to be a little baker in London since I knew what a baker was; I’d loved pastries and sweets my whole life, and I always wanted to share them with the world.

He took that all away.

My back ached from lying in bed for so long, but I didn’t want to take another bath to ease the pain. It had been nice the first time, but my skin was already so dry and ashy from going two days without moisturizing. _I should’ve told Tom to bring back my cocoa butter when I had the chance._

Even though I _knew_ I wouldn’t get far, I couldn’t help but think of escape plans over and over again. The front door clearly wasn’t an option. Perhaps I could find a back door somewhere. Or crawl through an open window? Once I got out, how would I hide long enough to escape Tom? I don’t remember there being much coverage from the view of the mansion, and as far as I could see from my windows, once I made it to the edge of the property, I’d get lost in the woods.

Could I hint to Ben that I didn’t belong here? Surely, he would let me go if I _begged_ —something I wasn’t much averse to doing if it meant getting back home. Too bad the bedroom door was still locked, or I could try to find him. Obviously, Tom didn’t want me to create another kitchen debacle.

A soft knock coaxed me out of my thoughts.

“(Y/n)?” came Tom’s muffled voice through the door. He seemed quieter than usual. “Are you awake?”

My heart raced. _He’s back already?_ I didn’t want him to come in and see me crying again, but I wouldn’t be able to fake being asleep with puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

The lock clicked and he opened the door before I could make my decision. He stepped in, and I could just make out his silhouette through the curtains as he carted my suitcase behind him. I carefully wiped my cheeks with the duvet and evened out my breathing— _fake sleeping, it is._

“(Y/n)?” His footsteps came closer and closer to the bed, and I heard him sigh and shuffle the curtain back slightly. “I should’ve known you’d be asleep,” he muttered. “At least you ate…”

The bed dipped, and my heart rivaled Usain Bolt. _What the hell is he doing?_

There was a long silence before he sighed again.

“Your friends _really_ care. Do you know how hard it was for me to have to lie about what happened to you?”

_Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you fucking threw me in your car!_

“I’m still trying to work through how to handle this. You’ll have to forgive me… Not for the kidnapping—clearly, I’m at fault for that—but because I’ve never done this before.”

_You and me both._

“I know it’s foolish, but I panicked.” He huffed out a sad, little laugh. “ _Me_ , panicked. I couldn’t risk my livelihood over you, and I know that’s selfish of me. You don’t deserve to be locked away like a fairytale princess.”

_Soooo… just let me leave then?_

“Here I am, alone, talking to an unconscious woman I barely know in a curtained, four-poster bed…” He chuckled. “Maybe you really are a princess.”

 _Okay… that’s enough_.

I played up a soft, sleepy groan and shifted on the mattress. Tom jolted off the bed and rearranged the curtains to make it seem like he was never next to me. I turned onto my side and let my eyes flutter open to see him standing next to the suitcase.

“Wha…” I murmured.

“I got your stuff. Trish sent some treats along as well.” He pulled the suitcase toward the bed and inched back the curtains again. “You think you’re some princess in this bed?” he mused teasingly.

 _If any time were more perfect for an eye roll_ …

“I wanted to feel cozier…” Not a lie.

He nodded once with a smirk and turned back to my luggage.

“I did bring some of your clothes, but I must say, your wardrobe is _so_ drab.”

“Oh, so all of a sudden you’re one of the guys from _Queer Eye_?”

“From _what?_ ”

“It’s a show on Netflix? Never mind. The point is I don’t think you have a leg to stand on criticizing my clothes, considering you gave me sweats.”

He ignored me and picked up one of the shopping bags attached to the suitcase handle.

“I had to guess your size. I can always take things back if they don’t fit, but you’ll need some nicer things if you’ll be staying here.”

I glared at him.

“You’re a right asshole, you know that?”

“You could at least be a little grateful. I could be treating you far worse.” His effort to smooth me over was mediocre at best.

“You could be treating me far better, too!”

“Just try them on. I’ll come back with lunch.”

He turned on his heel and went for the door, not even looking back at me for a confirmation that I’d heard him.

Door shut. Lock clicked.

I stared at the offensive piece of wood with a scowl. This was absolutely absurd. I was supposed to be thankful because he bought me expensive things? I couldn’t be bought. No fucking way.

I sighed. With nothing else to do, I threw back the duvet and swung my legs over the side of the bed. _Might as well_ humor _him._

I picked up the first bag and gasped at what I found. It was a white, floral sundress with a bateau neckline. It looked like something out of _Vogue_.

“I can’t be bought…” I muttered through gritted teeth, trying to convince myself.

It was then that I saw the single succulent on the nightstand.

 _My_ succulent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this week (and a day late). I've been so busy with classes, and now I'm dog sitting for my mom (puppies are handfuls!). Enjoy!

“Well?” I asked after he opened the bedroom door. Tom stood on the other side with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw.

“I must say,” he began. “I have impeccable taste.”

“I mean… it’s _okay_ ,” I teased.

“You look great. Much better than those old sweats.”

“I’ll ignore the fact that that compliment was sort of backhanded.”

He chuckled and swooped his arm out to the side to invite me into the corridor. After being forced to stay locked away in the guest room for two more days, Tom decided he would let me out of the room for dinner, only if I’d sit with him. He didn’t want me sneaking off to snoop or running into Ben and Mark without him. Obviously, I agreed—anything to get me out of bed for a few hours.

He led me downstairs to the kitchen where a beautiful spread of food lay on the counter.

“I’m still not sure what you like, but you can’t go wrong with pasta.”

“Very true… but you could just ask.”

We sat next to each other, still with a comfortable space between us. Tom served me a plate of pasta and then motioned to the rest of the food as if to tell me to help myself.

I had to admit… he was a great little cook.

We talked in rather short sentences as we ate. I didn’t have much to say to him in the first place, and eating just made me less inclined to talk at all. He seemed different tonight. His smile was genuine, baring his glistening teeth to me under the soft white light of the kitchen. Something about him was a bit more calm and… _nice_ than the past few days. He was so good at making conversation that I almost forgot what our situation was.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“My pleasure, darling.”

_God damn it. The fucking pet name again._

“Please, don’t call me that,” I whispered, a blush heating my cheeks.

There was a beat between us.

“You don’t like it?”

I looked away without an answer. _Of course I like it. But I shouldn’t._

“...Let me walk you to your room… Can’t be so sure you’ll end up there on your own.”

I rolled my eyes but let him have his little reassurance. It’s not like I’d found a way out yet anyway.

As we walked up the steps and through the corridor, I noticed all the paintings on the walls for the first time. There were beautiful impressionist pieces that looked similar to Degas’s dancer portraits and Monet’s water lilies—in both style and subject.

I stopped for a moment to admire one of them—a dancer in full tutu. The motion in the painting was impeccable. It was as if the painter captured a fluid moment in time.

Tom noticed that I stopped following him and turned to me.

“Ah, that’s one of my favorites. Edgar Degas.”

My head whipped to look at him.

“It’s _real_?”

“Of course it is. All of these are.” He motioned down the hall, and I turned to see a dozen impressionist pieces lining the hall.

“How?” I breathed.

“Gifts.”

He tilted his head toward the end of the hall, and I followed him toward the guest room. He chivalrously pushed open the door and let me cross the threshold. I turned back to him, awe clear as day.

“Who _are_ you?”

He smirked at me—but not a wolfish smirk like the ones before… this one was gentler.

“I told you already.”

“But… there must be so much more than what you’ve said. You have _genuine_ Degas and Monet paintings on the walls…”

He shrugged with a wider smile. _Insufferable._ I turned my back to him so I could get ready for bed. I padded over to the nightstand and placed my earrings next to the small, potted plant.

“Thank you for my succulent,” I whispered, hoping he didn’t hear the shyness in my voice.

“Figured a little bit of home would do you some good,” he said. There was almost a hint of softness in his voice.

“Don’t take that as me being okay with any of this. You didn’t do the right thing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I turned to look at him again, and he leaned nonchalantly against the door frame. “I did the right thing _for me_.”


	7. Chapter 7

I’d been cooped up in this room far longer than anyone should ever be. I could feel the cabin fever creeping in through the walls. Every day, Tom would leave me locked away while he did whatever he did, only letting me out for meals—if he even let me out. I paced around the room, sat next to the windows, tried to read, took baths… nothing kept me entertained for long.

The longer I spent in this damned house, the less I believed I’d ever get out. This wasn’t some fucking spy movie; this was real life. I didn’t know any survival skills. I didn’t know any form of martial arts. I didn’t know how to pick locks or climb down from the second floor of a mansion. I was stuck here until he said I wasn’t.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I practically jumped up from the bed with excitement. I realized how ridiculous it was that I was _excited_ for him to come get me, and I shook myself out of it as I opened the door.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, offering his arm to me. I eyed him incredulously but laced mine through his and rested my hand on his bicep. He led me through the house and to the kitchen, where an enormous spread of groceries awaited.

“What?”

“I called your employees again and asked them for a few recipes so I could get you the ingredients you need.” My brain was running at a million kilometres. “Blueberry muffins, chocolate scones, sugar cookies, banana nut bread… I think I got ingredients for French toast, too.”

My fingers grazed over my lips as I thought of what to say. _Is this real?_

“You’re letting me bake?” I breathed. Tom smiled and nudged me toward the counter.

“I thought you might want to be doing something other than waiting around in your room all day.”

“This is… Wow.” I peeked into each bag to find that—yes—he did really buy everything I needed. He joined me at the counter and helped me put everything away. I decided to make some banana nut bread so we could have it for breakfast.

Tom sat at the island working on his laptop while I set to work. I noticed that he even bought slightly ripe bananas, most likely at the suggestion of Trish. Banana bread was always so much better with super ripe bananas. I usually buy them and let them sit for a few days until the peels are almost black, but these would do just fine.

“So, why baking?”

I turned my head to glance at him as I stirred in the melted butter to my mashed bananas.

“Dunno. Just something I’ve always liked doing.” He stood and moved to stand next to me as I added the baking soda and salt, then the sugar, eggs, and vanilla. “It gets me away from the world for a bit.”

“Have you always wanted to get away from the world for a bit?”

 _I’d like to get away from it right now._ I chewed my lip to hold back my retort.

“It’s nice sometimes. It’s hard to remember that not everything in the world is bad when you’re bombarded with news and tweets and posts about all the bad things.” I added the flour and mixed until the batter was smooth. “Baking helps.”

Tom watched me finish the mixture and then pour it into the greased loaf tin. He reached out to catch a drop on his finger and brought it to his lips.

“If that’s what the batter tastes like, I can’t wait for the finished product.”

I blushed at his compliment and opened the oven door. Sweat coated my hands as I tried my best not to drop the tin. How did he make me so god damned nervous even when I was sure of myself? I know how to bake. It’s my entire life. But one praise from this strange man, and it’s like I was a forgotten ice lolly on a sidewalk in mid-July.

“Thank y—ah!” I yanked my arm back from the oven and stared at my hand as I shut the door with my leg. Tears pricked in my eyes as the hot, screaming mark darkened on the back of my hand.

“Let me see.” He took my forearm and fingers in his hands, tilting my wrist up. “Oh, darling… That’s quite the burn.” He nudged me over to the sink and turned on a cool tap, easing my hand under the water.

“I haven’t burned myself since I opened the café…”

“Accidents happen.” His thumbs massaged the area around the burn, and I almost melted into his touch. His gentleness caught me off guard, but I couldn’t help but fall for it. Nobody ever took care of me before. If something happened to me at the shop, I’d have to deal with it myself.

This was nice… nicer than I wanted to admit.

“Let me bandage you up so it doesn’t get infected.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

He looked at me as if I had amused him somehow.

“I’m going to bandage you up so it doesn’t get infected,” he repeated, more stern but still with a hint of softness.

“Okay…”

He smiled and let go of my hand in favor of retrieving the first aid kit from a cabinet above the stove. He sat me on top of the counter and applied antibiotic cream and a wrap.

“Too tight?”

“No, it’s good.” I watched in slight awe as he tended to me with such care. It was as if he thought I’d break with the simplest touch.

Before I knew what was happening, he kissed my knuckles and released my hand.

“That should do it.” He helped me down from the counter top. “Don’t take that off until you go to bed.”

I stared up at him, no doubt looking like a confused toddler.

“Why…” the rest of my sentence caught in my throat. Tom’s brow quirked.

“Why…?”

“You’re being nice all of a sudden?”

He sighed and leaned back on the opposite counter. I could see the gears turning in his head as he thought of what to say.

“I’ve told you this before, but I’ve nothing against you. It was just bad timing. I didn’t want to take you, but I couldn’t have you blowing it for me. The only reason I’m keeping you here is because I can’t trust that you won’t tell someone. But I swear I’m not trying to make your life harder. I really swear. I just don’t know what to do in this situation.” He rubbed his mouth and cheeks with one hand. “If I could go back, I would’ve waited five minute longer. I’m not a cruel man. I don’t mean you any unnecessary harm.”

It’s true; he _had_ told me this before. But it seemed so much more genuine now. He looked sad and guilty and like he really meant it.

If I had any chance of getting out of here, I’d have to convince him that he could trust me.

And he _could_ —I wasn’t about to put myself on his hit list for real.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: there are mentions of rape in this chapter (not necessarily "rape" in our common vernacular, but I used the word and there's a little implication of our usage, so I figured I would give a warning all the same).

“I have a proposition,” Tom offered from the door. I sat on my bed, painting my toenails with the nail polish I’d found in my suitcase.

“And that would be…?”

He stepped inside and waltzed toward me, setting a tea saucer with warm banana bread on the nightstand.

“I’m willing to let you wander around the mansion…” His long, nimble fingers pulled back the curtain as he leaned on the bedpost. “ _If_ you promise not to get into any trouble.”

I perked up and looked at him.

“Are you serious?”

“You have my word.”

Oh, to be able to move freely through the building… It sounded too good to be true.

“What’s _trouble_?”

“Don’t go snooping. Don’t try to run. Nothing violent. No destruction of property.”

I rolled my eyes. “Have you _met_ me?”

His head tilted back as he laughed, and his teeth gleamed in the sunlight.

“Fair enough. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Will you give me a proper tour, then? Places I should and shouldn’t go?”

“I’d love to.” He pushed himself off the bedpost and waited for me by the door. I capped my polish and set it on the nightstand, picked up the plate, then followed him into the hall.

We walked toward Mark’s office, which Tom jokingly—or perhaps not—said to avoid at all costs. _Don’t have to tell me twice,_ I thought. The rest of the rooms on this floor were the men’s bedrooms. Tom showed me to his door, but said I should only go in there if he told me to, or if I was with him. It was a little suspicious, but I understood a person’s need for privacy—even though he was a murderer.

“Obviously, don’t go into their rooms either.” His chuckle was light and airy, and I found myself laughing along with him.

We finished on the second floor, and he took me down the incredible staircase to the first. The foyer had similar windows to the ones in my room, so the entryway was filled with natural light. I relished the feeling of warm sunbeams on my cheeks, stretching my shoulders as if I were a cat sunbathing. I hoped I’d be able to feel them outside someday soon.

Since I’d been in the kitchen plenty, he showed me down the other end of the corridor. The sitting room was extravagant; it looked worthy of the Royal Family. The dining room was just as beautiful, but I couldn’t help but feel more uncomfortable in those rooms than I was in my own. Finally, he showed me to the back corridor where his and Ben’s offices were. They were tucked behind the small library, just at the very end of the house. Tom stood a bit taller and looked down at me with a smile when we got to his door.

“Are you ready for the pièce de résistance?”

“You think you’re fancy, huh?”

He chuckled and pushed the dark, wooden door open and ushered me inside.

I’m not totally sure what I imagined, but this wasn’t anything like it. The walls were painted a cream color, which let natural light illuminate the room from the huge window behind his desk. His bookshelves were stacked with novels, encyclopedias, and classic literature. There were two potted ferns next to the window, and a long vine of ivy cascading from on top of one of the shelves. His mahogany desk sat in front of the window, tidy and waiting. This was definitely not the office of a criminal. In fact, it reminded her of her own cozy flat.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He swaggered over to his chair and sat down, crossing his ankle over his knee and his arms behind his head. “Furnished it myself. It used to be so dark in here. Kept falling asleep at the wheel, so to speak.”

I ran my fingers over the back of the green, chaise lounge next to me.

“Ooo, velvet… I like it…  _Fancy_ ,” I teased and flopped onto it.

“I _am_ a millionaire.”

I picked at some dried nail polish on my big toe as I told him, “You mean your _boss_ is a millionaire…”

His eyes narrowed in jest, but then he unfolded himself and flicked his computer mouse.

“I have to get some work done, but you’re welcome to lay there if you wish.”

I glanced around the office once more and munched on a slice of bread.

“Can I read one of your books?”

He smiled. “Be my guest.”

Standing from the chaise was harder than I anticipated, and I hoped to god he wasn’t secretly laughing at me while my back was turned.

“What am I in the mood for?” I asked, not necessarily to him. But he stood anyway, stepping over to the shelf I stood in front of. I held my breath as his chest almost touched my back; his long, gorgeous arm reached past my head and pulled one of the novels from the shelf.

“This one.”

He set it in my hands and his fingertips brushed the side of my wrist as he backed away and sat down again. I exhaled—a bit louder than I anticipated—and flopped back down on the chaise.

The book he gave me was older than I expected it to be. Hardcover without a sleeve. I traced over the engraved title on the spine. _Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes._ I leafed through the copyright pages and settled on the table of contents. There were tales from Greek, Roman, and Norse mythology, and I didn’t know where to start. I opened my mouth to ask Tom which to choose, but he interrupted before I could get a word out.

“Greek.”

_Well, that settles that._

I settled on Hercules first—I had to know what Disney got right and what they got wrong. Then, I read about the big three: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. After skipping around to a few more tales, I came across an image that struck me to my core. It was a beautiful statue made from marble; a man gripping onto a woman who looked as if she were trying to get away from him, but he didn’t seem too concerned. _The Rape of Persephone_.

I frantically flipped to the beginning of the section and devoured each word: the story of the young spring goddess who was kidnapped and taken by Hades against her will. Tricked into eating a pomegranate seed, which meant she’d be tied to the Underworld for the rest of her life. Even after I tried to move onto another tale, I couldn’t stop reading and rereading the pages telling her story. It was so familiar, because it had happened to _me_. If only I could talk to her and ask her how she coped with everything. I wanted to scream into the sky for her with the hope that she would hear me. I read until the room got dark, my brain reeling through the similarities between this myth and my own life.

“Darling,” Tom whispered as he flicked on a light. I jumped at the sound of his voice, but settled back into the chaise with my thumb stuck between the pages. “Hungry?”

I nodded, and he sat down at the end of my chair with two plates of pasta. I looked down at the book and back up to the plate.

“I don’t want to lose my place.”

“You haven’t finished it yet?” I shook my head. “You’ve been reading all day.”

“Kept going back to one of the stories…”

He smiled and reached across my legs to set the food down on the side table before gingerly slipping the book out of my hands.

“Oh, no, it’s…” I lost the words and bit my lip as he opened to the page I’d been on—the page with the picture. His eyes scanned it and the text beside it diligently. Without looking up, he dog-eared the page and shut the book. I scrambled for something to say—something to keep him from getting mad—but I couldn’t. He stood and returned the book to its place on the shelf, still facing it as he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

I sat up and leaned toward him, almost beckoning to him.

“No, Tom, I—”

“You know why I had to—”

“I know, Tom.”

He still didn’t face me, but I could tell he was hurt. There was no doubt that a single word was replaying in his head over and over again— _rape_.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us moved. Neither of us said anything. We just stayed there; me looking at his back, and him avoiding my gaze.

“Tom…” I began, still trying to think through what I wanted to say. “Tom, please look at me.”

His shoulders rose as he inhaled deeply, preparing himself to turn around. He did, slowly. Tears glistened in his blue eyes, and my chest ached for him.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I began. “I… You didn’t… You didn’t rape me.” His shoulders sagged with relief. “The story just… it’s just relatable to our situation. You’re not a monster…” I hesitated to finish my thought, but the look on his face made my stomach twist into knots. _God damn it._ “You’re just a man who was in the right place at the wrong time.” I tucked my knees up under me and crawled forward on the chaise so I could reach his hand. I squeezed his fingers at an attempt of reassurance. “I don’t agree with what you did, but you definitely didn’t do _that_.”

Tom squeezed my hand back and then dropped it. He swallowed hard and looked down at his feet.

“Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's me! Sorry for the radio silence! I just finished my semester and had to move out of my apartment for the summer, so I was totally slammed with sorting my life out. But now it's summer, and I have a lot more free time. Here's a little Sunday chapter for you. I hope to have another one on Tuesday or Wednesday as per usual!

Tom stopped locking my bedroom door.

It took me a while to realize it, but when he didn’t bring me breakfast one morning, I checked the door knob and found it turning all the way around.

“Hey,” I greeted, padding into the kitchen. Tom glanced up at me from his laptop and smiled.

“Morning.” His voice was warm and buttery, and having it be the first thing I heard after waking up was gorgeous. “How’s your hand? And your leg?”

My leg hadn’t bothered me for about two weeks now—I’d actually forgotten about it. I looked down at my hand and traced the burn with the fingers on my other hand.

“Good. This is definitely going to scar, though.”

He tsked and shook his head. “Poor thing.” I rolled my eyes at his teasing and picked out a coffee to try.

Before I could even take a mug down from the cabinet, I turned back to him.

“Question.”

“Answer.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat before I could stop it, and I eyed him with amusement.

“Seriously, though… Can we… can we go out to brunch?

“Brunch? (Y/n)—”

“Ipromisetobeonmybestbehavior!” I squeezed in before he could start a new thought.

“Don’t _you_ sound American…” he mused from behind his coffee mug.

I shrugged. “The Americans got something right. Breakfast and mimosas? Sign me up.”

“I can make us a full English breakfast.”

“I’m sure you could… but it’s not the same as going to a nice cafe where there are people and waitstaff and _mimosas_ …” I whined.

“You’re seriously asking me to take you to a public space where you could slip away?”

“Please?” I stood across from him at the island, leaning toward him to plead. “It doesn’t even have to be to London. Just take me somewhere so I can breathe for once. I won’t try anything funny. You can keep me attached to your hip. Besides, don’t you want to treat your old uni mate to a nice meal that you don’t have to cook yourself?”

His eyes narrowed playfully, and I knew I was getting to him.

“Blackmail. Classy.”

“Soooo… that’s a yes?”

He stood and sauntered over to the sink, never taking his eyes off of me as he dumped the rest of his coffee down the drain.

“Go get dressed.”

I practically squealed as I bounded upstairs to my room. I decided to humor him and wear one of the sundresses he bought for me. It was a black two piece—a maxi skirt littered with beautiful white and blue flowers—and a blue cropped top to match. I twirled in the mirror and smiled as the skirt fanned out around me. I had to hand it to him… he _did_ have great taste. I paired the outfit with a pair of white, strappy wedges and a pink purse, courtesy of my past self never unpacking my suitcase. Not like I had anything to really put in it except for my lipstick and mirror, but it looked cute anyway.

Tom was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, looking handsome in a pair of dark jeans and a grey Polo. The sleeves hugged his toned biceps, and I could’ve melted right down the steps.

“You look great!” he complimented, offering me his arm. I took it and let him escort me out the door to his car. I halted as soon as we crossed the threshold—the rare English sun shining down on me. Tom’s arm tugged my hand as he kept walking, but I heard him turn toward me as I closed my eyes and basked in the warmth of the rays.

“What are yo—”

“Just give me a minute.” I inhaled deeply, letting the scent of freshly cut grass and spring breeze fill me with a sense of safety. My arms stretched out from my sides, taking in as much of the sun as I could.

“If I recall correctly, you’re the one who wanted to go to _brunch_ , my dear.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

His hand wrapped around my wrist and he pulled me toward his car.

“Hey!” I laughed as I stumbled into him.

This time I wasn’t being threatened with force, so I had the opportunity to see just how beautiful it was. Sparkling white. Pitch black rims. It looked absolutely immaculate.

He stood beside the passenger door and opened it.

“My _lady_ ,” he hissed playfully. I rolled my eyes and laughed as I sat in the seat. Once he rounded the bonnet and got into his, we were off to some undisclosed and swanky café. Tom escorted me in as if we’d been lovers for years, using sweet tones and pet names and making puppy eyes at me. “The usual table,” he told the host.

“ _Usual table_?” I asked teasingly.

“I’ll have you know that I enjoy a good mimosa from time to time.”

The host sat us at our table and handed us stylish menus. Tom’s blue eyes scanned over the options, and it was then that I noticed just how long and beautiful his eyelashes were. They fluttered as he read, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him.

After a few moments, he set his menu down and looked back up at me, brows furrowing with confusion.

“Something the matter?”

“Huh? Uh, no, I just… You have an eyelash… Just there.” I pointed at the non-existent hair. “Let me get it.”

As my fingertips brushed against his cheek, I saw his lips part slightly. _Does he… like that?_

“Thank you, _my love_ ,” he teased, playing up the couple thing. I inhaled sharply at his fake affections—even if they _were_ fake, they had real consequences. My heart ached to be called those names genuinely, and somehow I knew he knew that.

The rest of our brunch was mostly quiet, save for a _how’s yours?_ and _try this_. I’d probably downed 4 mimosas by the time we were finished, and I could feel my cheeks heat from the champagne.

I found myself gazing at his eyes again as he looked out the window. Before I could avert my eyes, he smirked and leaned in.

“Don’t tell me there’s another eyelash.”

I blushed as a smile split my lips.

“I just think you’re beautiful.”

“Is that the alcohol or you talking?”

I giggled.

“Both.”

He chuckled and pulled my glass away from me. “That’s enough of that, my darling.” He waved the waitress over to us for the check.

“Is that Tom the fake boyfriend or Tom the businessman slash kidnapper calling me those sweet names?”

He grinned wolfishly.

“Both.”


	10. Chapter 10

Nothing happened after our brunch date. It’s like as soon as we walked out the door of the café, he was just boring Businessman Tom again. It made my stomach clench with regret and embarrassment. How could I have been so naive to have thought his flirtations were genuine? He would never see me that way. I was just collateral damage.

“Tom?” I asked as I knocked on his office door.

“Yes, darling?” he called from the other side. I smiled to myself. _At least he’s in a good mood._ I pushed the door open and slid inside.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

I scowled, but he just chuckled and crossed his arms behind his head.

“What is it, (y/n)?”

I sighed and shut the door again, leaning against it.

“Sooo… We’ve gotten a little more… _amiable_.”

“That we have. What’s your point?”

“Well…” I stepped toward his desk and sat on the corner. “I was just wondering if maybe we could… go back… to the bakery?”

Tom’s jaw set. He sat up in his chair and let his hands fall into his lap.

“No.”

“But, Tom—”

“I can’t trust you.”

“What?”

He stood to his full height—an attempt to intimidate me.

“(Y/n), I can’t trust you yet.”

“You cannot be serious! We just had a great day out last week and—”

“Look,” he snarled and snatched my wrist mid-flail in his crushing grip. “Just because I took you out for brunch doesn’t mean you get to walk all over me. You are not leaving this mansion.”

I blinked at him and inhaled sharply. “Tom, let go of me.”

He tossed my arm away and turned his back to me.

“I’ve explained countless times that I can’t have you blowing this for me. I’ve worked hard to get on Ben’s good graces the last few years. You’re insane if you think I’ll give that up to let you serve coffee.”

“How can you just steal me away from my passion in the name of your own and tell me that I’m insane?!”

He spun back around to face me. “I let you bake here!”

“It’s not the same! Do you know how hypocritical you are?” Tears pricked at my eyes and fell in hot streams down my cheeks.

“I already told you I was saving both our asses!”

“It’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair!”

I rocked back on my foot and stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh, you did _not_ just pull that line like I’m fucking five,” I growled.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t acting like a fucking five-year-old, I’d have more reason to talk to you like an adult.”

My nostrils flared with my anger.

“You’re a bloody monster, Tom Hiddleston,” I sneered and slammed the door in his face. I ran up the steps and shut myself in my room, tears still flowing. What was Tom’s deal? Was I totally wrong about us being nicer? Did I imagine his reactions to me last week? I felt like a fool thinking he’d been attracted to me—embarrassed that I was attracted to him.

I lost track of time while soaking in a bubble bath; the lavender oil soothed my nerves and before I knew it, I was falling asleep in the water thinking about him.

A knock jolted me awake.

“Go away, Tom…” I grumbled.

The doorknob twisted. The water sloshed around me as I covered my breasts and crossed my legs.

“I’m fuckin’ naked!”

In stepped Mark. My eyes widened.

“That you are.”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing in here!?”

He put a hand over his eyes and chuckled.

“I just came to offer my condolences.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I stood from the tub, wrapped myself in my robe, and rested my hand on my hip. “You can look, now.”

“I heard your lover’s tiff with our dearest Thomas.”

“Oh, piss off with that _lover’s_ bullshit.”

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Well, he’s grown very fond of you. That’s probably why he hasn’t let you leave yet.”

“No, he wants to cover his own ass…” I pushed past him and shook my hair out, standing next to my bed with my arms over my chest. “What the fuck do you want, Mark?”

He sighed and stopped about a metre from me, feet shoulder-width apart.

“I can get you out.”

“Oh, don’t fucking play with me, you dickhead.”

“I swear on my own mother.” He crossed his heart with his right hand. “I’ll let you shoot me with my own gun if I’m lying.”

I watched him as he smirked at me with an air of fake charm. He was toying with me. I knew it. He _had_ to be.

“Well, spit it out!” I hissed.

He chuckled again.

“You can walk right out the front door and down the driveway to the main road.”

“Bullshit.”

“(Y/n), I have no reason to lie to you. You’re not _my_ captive. Besides…” He stepped forward and reached for my cheek, but I smacked his hand away before he could touch me. “I’d do anything to watch Tom go down.”

My stomach churned with guilt, even though I hadn’t done anything to wrong Tom.

“Why do you hate him?” I asked.

Mark scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“He’s the golden boy. I was Ben’s go-to man until Tom _proved_ himself and took my place. And I don’t think it’s fair or very smart of him to keep you here.” He waltzed over to the door and turned back to me. “The code to the front door is 866497.”

Then he was gone. I stood for a moment before rushing to dress myself and slipping into my Vans. I snuck down the steps and made sure Tom wasn’t around before punching in the code to the keypad at the left of the door. It unlocked with a beep and a click, and I pushed it open.

_Holy shit._

The sky was grey and a raindrop kissed my cheek, but I was finally outside. I was free. I could go anywhere.

So, why wouldn’t my legs move?

I stood on the steps to the porch, begging myself to just go. But I couldn’t.

“Come on…”

The clouds opened up and rain poured over me. _Well… I’m already wet from the bath. Might as well go._

“(Y/N)!” I jumped and spun around at Tom’s voice, roaring with anger. “How the hell did you get out here?”

“Tom!” My legs still wouldn’t work, but this time I shook with fear. “Please don’t hurt me…” I whispered. Tom’s expression shifted immediately; eyes wide and brows furrowed—not in anger, but sadness.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I already promised that.” His voice cracked as if he were about to cry. “What are you doing out here?”

“Mark told me the code… He came into my room while I was in the bath and told me to run, but once I got out here, I couldn’t.”

“ _Mark?_ ”

I nodded, and Tom ushered me toward him and out of the rain. His hands rubbed up and down my arms to warm me up as we got back inside the house.

“I’m going to kill him…” he growled.

“Don’t— _Tom_ —”

“He came into my office and told me you got outside. He’s toying with us. With you.” He backed away from me and took a breath. “Go dry off. I’ll speak with him.”

“Why not speak to me here?”

Tom and I turned toward Mark’s voice. He stood at the second floor balcony ledge, looking down his nose at us.

“You’re a right cunt, Strong.” Tom slithered up the stairs, and Mark smirked as he approached the top of them. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean you get to fuck with (y/n). She has nothing to do with you.”

“Actually, I’m fairly certain she does. She’s distracting you from your work, which I am apart of.” Tom stopped climbing the steps, but he still put a barrier between Mark and myself. “I’ve been doing you a favor by keeping my mouth shut, but if you won’t get rid of her, I will.”

Tom’s fists flexed at his sides.

“You stay the fuck away from her or I will slit your throat in front of Kingsley.”

Mark’s eyes widened, as if he’d never heard something so threatening come out of Tom’s mouth. I stood in shock as the older man retreated to his office, but Tom gently coaxed me up the steps and into my bedroom for the night, promising he’d keep Mark from messing with me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a day later than usual, but two chapters in one week ain't bad!
> 
> and :O the drama!


	11. Chapter 11

That same night, I found myself lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, and contemplating my life as it existed in that moment. I didn’t want to bathe. I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to do anything.

But I _did_ want a snack.

I rummaged through the fridge looking for something yummy. It looked like we were due for a food delivery soon, as there wasn’t much to choose from.

“Hey.”

I jumped at the sudden presence and poked my head over the door. Tom stood in the dark doorway in some old joggers and a loose v-neck.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?” He padded over to the island and leaned against it, crossing his arms.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

I looked back in the fridge and pulled out a block of cheese. I held it up to him.

“Fancy a snack?”

“Might do,” he said on an exhale and darted his eyes to the cheese and back to me.

He sat at the island with a cutting board and cheese knife, and I hoisted myself up onto the countertop carefully to make sure I didn’t flash him with my panties under my short robe. I settled with my legs folded beneath me and opened the box of crackers while he sliced the cheese.

“I’m sorry for going outside,” I ceded. I didn’t look up at him, but I could see Tom glance at me from the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry for Mark tricking you into going outside.” He handed me a slice of cheese and I traded him a cracker. “Fuckin’ wanker.” We munched on them, and Tom decided he wanted some wine. “What cheese is it?”

I flipped the block over and checked the wrapper.

“Muenster,” I muttered through a cracker.

“Ooo, continuing with the American traditions, are we?” he joked, teasing me the same way he did about brunch. I smiled to myself. _This man and his impossible mood swings…_

He searched through the wine rack for a specific bottle, and I fiddled with the cardboard of the cracker box. I wanted to ask Tom to take me home again, but I didn’t want him to get angry.

“Tom?”

“Yes, darling?” he asked as he set the glasses in front of me and poured the Zinfandel.

“Why… never mind.”

“Out with it,” he coaxed.

“Why did you get so mad when I asked you if I could go home?”

He stared at me, obviously trying to figure out what he wanted to tell me. I stared back with a raised brow and took one of the glasses.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.” He sipped his own wine. “I’ve already told you.”

I sighed. “How could you think I would go around telling people what you did _now_ ? After being kept here without a scratch on me? You were right before; you haven’t done anything to me. And I admit that you’ve been more than hospitable. But you’ve got no reason to keep me anymore. You _know_ I won’t say anything. You know _me_.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t do that! Stop playing this tired unfeeling-rich-kidnapper role of yours. Be real with me, Tom.” I took his hand in mine. “I know you’re softer than you want me to see. That night in your office with the mythology book… that was _you._ That was _Tom Hiddleston, the man_. Bring him back.” Tom squeezed my hand in his and let go. “At least let me go home for _one_ night. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to see my friends. I want to smell my candles. You can bring me back after that. Please, Tom…”

“You’re not going to let up until I do, are you?”

I popped another cracker in my mouth and chewed.

“Nope.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“We’ll go in a few days. I have to go on a job with Mark and Ben, and then I’ll take you.”

“Really?” I could hear the childlike excitement in my own voice, and I cringed.

“Really. But I’m staying with you.”

I nodded and finished my glass of wine. “Of course.”

“How do you see through me? There was once a time when I scared you.”

“You’re a pushover for one.”

He laughed—genuinely laughed—and leaned in close.

“You’re going to kill me, (y/n).”

“Count on it.” I winked, leaning in to match him as I grabbed his glass and took a sip. Contrary to how infuriating he was at times, he was one of the most beautiful, charming men I’d ever seen, and the alcohol was making me more aware of the way his eyes sparkled in the moonlight shining in from the window. He was close… close enough that I could just lean in and…

“Would you like more wine?” he teased. He had to know it wasn’t wine that I wanted.

“I probably shouldn’t…”

His eyes narrowed as he scanned my face—for what, I don’t know.

“C’mon… one more for the road?”

_If we kiss now, I’ll never leave._

“I think I should probably just… go to bed.”

Tom leaned back and stood to his full height, but he had a soft smile spread across his cheeks.

“Let me escort you, then. Wouldn’t want any _wandering Marks_ to snatch you up.”

I giggled— _giggled_ —at him. He really was a sweetheart under his façade. I looped my arm with his and let him whisk me away to my bedroom.

“I’m sorry for calling you a monster…”

“I _was_ rather… _unsavory_ toward you.”

As we reached my door, I had to force myself to let go of him. He was just so warm and strong… I couldn’t meet his gaze as he turned to me, but he hooked his finger under my chin and made me look at him. His blue eyes still gleamed in the dark hallway, and I lost myself in them.

He said something, but I didn’t hear him.

“Sorry,” I apologized with an embarrassed laugh. “What?”

“I’ll see you in the morning, darling,” he repeated.

“You shall.”

I could feel his soft breath on my cheeks. How did we get this close to each other? His eyes searched my face, but I could only look at his thin lips. Against my better judgement, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. My eyes fluttered shut as I felt him melt into me. His arms snaked around my waist and squeezed me closer to him. His tongue tasted of Zinfandel, and I nibbled on his bottom lip as he deepened the kiss. A rumbling, manly groan crawled up Tom’s throat, and I shivered as it tickled my lips. His hands ghosted up my back and cupped my cheeks as he pulled away for air.

“(Y/n)…” he breathed, thumb caressing my skin.

“Shut up.”

I leaned back against the wall and dragged him to me, locking our lips again in a soft kiss. Tom met my advances with enthusiasm, his left hand tangling in my hair. It felt so natural to be with him this way; it was as if we fit together like the most insane of puzzles. His warmth filled me with peace and contentment.

Tom pulled away again, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want him to disappear. I didn’t want to wake up from the dream.

“Goodnight, darling.”

I sighed and finally opened my eyes to see his genuine smile.

“Night, Tom.”

His hands slipped down my arms, and he brought my right hand to his lips for a final kiss before he retreated down the corridor. I watched him disappear into the dark, and I smiled to myself as I opened my door and slipped into the room.

Months of being cooped up in this mansion by the man, yet I couldn’t help but fall for him. He was trouble for sure, but he was also elegant, humorous, intelligent, considerate, and so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the inconsistent posting, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. We're nearing the end... about 3/5 of the way!
> 
> I'm so surprised at the response to this fic. I started writing this just for me, but so many of you have said how much you like it, and it truly means the world to hear. Thanks for your love!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I think I'm subconsciously postponing the ending to this (^▽^;). Here's a long, kind-of-smutty chapter to make up for it!

I wasn’t awake to see Tom and his partners away, and part of me felt all the better for it. I couldn’t stomach facing him—not after I kissed him. How could I have been so fucking stupid? I was just some bland woman he snatched from an alley. He was a rich… _vigilante_ who wouldn’t have ever given me the time of day if I hadn’t caught him in the act. I was nothing compared to him. Why would he ever want to kiss me?

But he left me a bagel and coffee by my bed. And somehow, that bagel and coffee was all the reassurance I needed. He _did_ care. He saw me as someone worth taking care of—even if it meant leaving coffee next to the bed only for it to get cold by the time I woke up. Cold coffee or not, the gesture made me smile. I couldn't believe how fast my mood changed in the span of a minute or two, but I felt much better about things seeing the mug and saucer on the nightstand.

Tom mentioned that we’d go to London in a “few days”… did that mean his job would last that long? Was it a day trip? Or was he going to be gone for a while? The fridge _was_ fully stocked—probably an early morning delivery since they left before I woke. They didn’t leave me a note or anything, and I had no way to contact them.

_Looks like I’m on my own._

Being home alone always looked so much better in the movies.

I realized that there wasn’t a lot for me to do without Tom there besides lounge around and read. His computer was logged off, which meant I couldn’t kill any time online, and he still had my phone hidden somewhere. Luckily, one of the guys had Netflix logged in on the TV in the sitting room, so I passed the time with all eight episodes of _Russian Doll_ and a few romantic comedies. It was a start, but it only passed like… eight hours, not including snack breaks.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do here?” I muttered to the air as I flopped backwards on the suede sofa, knocking back the last of the wine from the night before with Tom. My head spun and my cheeks were warm, but my brain was fuzzy in the most amusing way. Before I could pass out for a nap from being wine drunk, I decided to explore the house again to see if there was anything else to occupy my time with.

When I couldn’t find anything, I trudged to my room. _Maybe I should just go to bed…_ I rummaged through my suitcase at a last ditch effort to find something to do. I threw clothes out left and right, not finding any leftover books or even an old crossword puzzle.

As I threw a wad of panties behind me, a soft buzzing sound caught my attention. I turned on my knees and dug through the panty ball to find my little green vibrator on for the whole world to hear. I clicked it off and stared at it, wondering how I could ever miss something like this while looking through my suitcase. I remembered putting it there for my last trip to France to meet a friend from home who had studied there for uni. The little bugger had gotten me through many a lonely night…

Like this one.

I shoved everything back in my suitcase and slid it under the bed, clutching my vibrator. Perhaps it was my fogged-up wine brain, but having a go at myself seemed pretty fun… And with Tom gone… I could…

_No. He forbade me from going in his room._

But how exhilarating would it be to mess around somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be?

I rushed down the hall and stopped just in front of his bedroom door. Was it locked? Of _course_ he locked it. He left me alone in the house and specifically told me not to go in his room unless he told me to.

“I’m not his _pet_ ,” I spat.

The knob turned and clicked with ease, and I silently celebrated this little victory. As soon as I stepped inside, I shut myself in and locked the door behind me. I flicked on the lights and gasped at how gorgeous the room was. Just like his office, the walls were a warm white, and there were plants scattered around methodically. His bed was made, though less pristine than I imagined. The baby blue duvet matched the sheets on his dark four poster bed—though he didn’t have a canopy like mine.

I crossed the floor to the bed, admiring all the little Tom touches around. He had beautiful framed photos around of what looked like his family. There were just enough loose clothes around to make it look lived in—a tie thrown over an armchair by the back window; a shirt hanging on the door of the armoire; a pair of shoes next to it, just askew. It was nice to know that he wasn’t an anally clean man; it put less pressure on me to be perfect.

Pulling back a duvet never felt more scandalous. I slid beneath it and sighed. The exquisite sheets skimmed my body like the softest caress of a lover. _The thread count must be massive…_ I rolled onto my side and squished my face into the pillows. They smelled of his fresh shampoo and soap, his gorgeous cologne, and his own musky scent. I could live in it for ages.

I lay on my back again and closed my eyes, letting my other senses take me away into a fantasy of my big, strong, handsome man kneeling above me. His beautiful, big hands roamed my body. Calloused fingertips tweaked my nipples… He knew what he was doing, the big tease.

 _You gorgeous treat…_ he purred. _What have I done to deserve your presence here? You’re much better suited for your canopy bed down the hall… but who could resist a princess in his own bed?_

His teeth nibbled on my neck, a chuckle caught behind them. I smiled at the ceiling, giddy that he knew exactly what I wanted. His blue eyes sparkled with desire, and a cheeky smirk spread over his lips.

_Why don’t you show me just how you like to please yourself, my dearest…_

How could I do anything but oblige? I pressed the on button as his hooded eyes scanned my body. I twisted my left nipple between my fingers, tugging slightly on my breast and letting it go again. As I continued, I buried the toy between my pussy lips, the soft vibrations easing me into this little game. I reached down with my left hand and spread myself to get better access, and I teased my clit with the vibrator. I ghosted it over the little bud and smiled at the way it sent chills through my body. My hips rolled to meet the vibrator, and a soft moan fluttered from my lips. The corner of his mouth twitched up. 

 _Oh, (y/n)... how sweet you are._ His hand curled around mine and pressed the button again, knowing he was making it buzz faster. _Don’t tease yourself. That’s my job._

My body rocked in time with the rhythmic pattern he’d settled on. The toy buzzed in waves, starting soft, building to a crescendo, then falling again. I could feel Tom’s gaze on me as I played with myself, eager to impress him. He pressed down with my hand in his, reaching a new sensation. The vibrations surged through my clit and around my vagina, and a surprise moan tumbled from my lips.

_Don’t hold back. Be loud for me. Let the world know you can please yourself._

Another moan spilled out—then another. His soft dominance was a refreshing change from his usually cold demeanor. I grinned up at him as another shockwave rolled through me, making my body shiver with delight. He gazed down at me with longing, no doubt wishing he was the one to make me feel so good.

_Do you know how delicious you are? My little (y/n) playing with herself just for me? I would devour you in seconds if you’d let me—though I much prefer your show. Perhaps I’ll have some dessert before dinner…_

His teasing set fire to my cheeks. I wanted him to eat me out _so badly_. With that eloquent tongue? He’d ruin me. I changed the vibration pattern to a faster one, this time shaking as my body chased the ghost of an orgasm.

“Tom…”

_Yes, my love… Call my name. I’ll gladly take credit for your pleasure._

“Tom, Tom, Tom!” I chanted breathily, the ghost becoming corporeal by the second. “Yes, Tom!”

_Come, my darling. Come for me, you goddess of a woman. I want you to let go and give me everything._

My body convulsed uncontrollably as my orgasm hit me, my clit almost uncomfortably overstimulated. I cried out as my pussy fluttered, trying to find solace after such a strong release. I don’t think I’d ever felt so much sweat trickle down my butt.

No… not sweat…

My eyes blew open as I realized what had happened. I jumped up from the bed, cheeks hot and chest heaving.

“Oh my god…”

A puddle of _something_ soaked through the sheets and into the mattress.

“I fucking… _squirted?_ ” I’d never done it before. I didn’t know it felt like _that._ In fact, it felt like nothing. Whatever happened, it was way more than I ever expected—and way more _liquidy_. I reached forward and brushed my fingers over it, in awe that I just _did that_ on _Tom’s bed_.

“Is this piss?” I whispered to no one, leaning down and—in an inexplicably impulsive and embarrassing moment—sniffed the spot. _Doesn’t smell like piss_ , I thought. It surely felt like piss when it happened.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Panic surged through me, and I scrambled to strip the bed. I carried the stained sheet to the linen room and tossed it in the wash. “Fuck!” My fingers carded through my hair as I thought of a way to clean the mattress. This wasn’t supposed to happen. All I wanted was to fantasize about a man who wouldn’t be caught dead fucking me. Now I was cleaning my maybe-urine-maybe-not-urine off his bed.

After several unsuccessful attempts with paper towels and rags, I searched through his bathroom to find my solace—his hair dryer.

It felt like I’d been sitting next to the bed for hours. For a rich guy, he had a shitty hair dryer. It was like a child trying to blow out the candles on their birthday cake. By the time I was satisfied with my handiwork, it was time to switch over the laundry. I ran to my room to shower and get my head on straight before I’d have to make the bed again. _Nothing like a little fantasizing about your kidnapper doing naughty things to you to get you all sweaty,_ I mocked myself.

“I can’t believe I did thaaaat,” I whined, massaging conditioner into my hair. I could’ve been in and out without a trace, but that last shockwave just hit me differently. Every other time I’d masturbated, I stopped short of fully coming because it felt like I was going to pee. But this time? This time it came out of nowhere. I don’t know what got into me. I just felt so good thinking about Tom pounding me into his mattress and telling me that I was his little hostage forever. I knew it was wrong of me to think things like that, but it just made it a million times sexier. And besides… it was the first time I felt relief afterwards. 

Well, minus the mini panic.

Even with the panic, though, I couldn’t help but feel proud of myself. I stood a little taller under the stream of hot water as I thought about my achievement; I made myself squirt! The infamous female orgasm! And it was all just with the _thought_ of Tom destroying me in bed. The real thing would probably kill me. 

After my victory shower, I wrapped myself in my robe and finished my mission to put Tom’s room back the way I found it. The sheets were warm and soft, and I could lay there for hours. Though high on my orgasm and drunk on wine, I knew I couldn’t stay in Tom’s bed. I couldn’t risk him coming home to find me in a room he didn’t want me entering. I rolled off the mattress and tidied it the best I could, then carried myself to the top of the staircase. I knew I needed to get a glass of water, but I couldn’t even fathom trying to drag myself back up the countless steps to my room, so instead, I got my water, plopped into my favorite foyer chair, and curled up on the large cushion. I let myself doze, not even considering how sore I’d be in the morning. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait for Tom to come home.

I had a few waking dreams of him waltzing through the door with flowers and chocolates—cliched but something I desperately wanted for myself. He was so suave. So charming. So elegant. Rich. Handsome. He was the sugar daddy I never admitted to wanting. So what if I had a few fantasies of him treating me like a princess? I may be an independent woman but sometimes I wanted to be a little _less_ independent...

In another dream, he entered dressed in tails, holding a white-gloved hand out to beckon me to join him at our wedding ceremony on the lawn. His smile could’ve blinded me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

A nondescript commotion nudged me from sleep, but I only groaned and shifted in my spot. Nothing was going to pull me from my fantasies. If I couldn’t have Tom in real life, then I sure wasn’t going to be interrupted in my dreams of him. It sounded too far away anyway—as if coming from another room, but it was getting closer.

I didn’t even have time to open my eyes before my heart jumped into my throat at a terribly loud intrusion. The door burst open and the men of the mansion stumbled inside.

“You really did it this time, Hiddleston,” Mark barked.

I stood—too quickly—and looked through bleary eyes at the three men rushing inside. As I wiped the sleep away, I knew this couldn’t be a dream. Mark and Ben struggled to carry Tom through the door. His suit jacket rose with his arms—thrown over the other men’s shoulders—and revealed his bloodied side. It looked as if they’d tried to stop the bleeding with an old sheet or blanket of some sort, but it seeped through like it was a paper towel. I shook with adrenaline and fear; all that blood could only mean one thing.

Gunshot.

“Let me help!” I yelled before I even knew I was stepping toward them.

Mark glared at me as they pushed past. 

“Don’t you think you’ve done quite enough?”

I wanted to chew him out, but I knew if I made him mad, he might not help Tom out of spite. Still, seeing the man who I’d—dare I say—fallen for writhing in pain with blood all over his side made my fight response kick in. They trudged toward the corridor, no doubt taking him to the bathroom.

“We have to get him to a hospital!” I urged.

“NO!” the three men cried in unison. Ben was the only one who seemed regretful for yelling at me—after all, he still didn’t know I knew about their endeavors, and he probably thought I was just scared out of my wits about a gunshot wound.

I mean… to be fair, I _was._

“He could die!”

“He’s not going to die,” Ben soothed. “Mark and I will take care of him.”

I worried my lip as I followed on their heels. Mark lowered Tom into the bathtub. Ben held me by my shoulders and reached up with his right hand to wipe away tears I didn’t even know were falling.

“Ben, he’ll die!” I repeated.

“No,” he pressed. “We’ll take care of him.” He tried to usher me out of the bathroom, but Tom spoke up—albeit with a pained squeak in his throat.

“Let her stay… I want her to stay…”

I scrambled over to him and took the hand he reached with. My knees crashed to the tile floor. I squeezed his hand in both of mine and pressed them to my forehead.

“I’m okay,” he reassured. “Nothing I haven’t gone through before.”

“You’ve been shot before?” I breathed.

“Well… no, this would be a first.”

“Bastard man…” He smiled at me, but then grimaced in pain as Mark unbandaged him. I glanced down at the bare wound and quickly looked to the ceiling. There was _so much_ blood.

“Look at me, (y/n). Don’t look at _that_.”

His eyes shone with pained tears, and I reached forward to wipe them away. Mark and Ben worked to patch Tom up, digging out the bullet—met with several cries and curses from the man in the tub—cleaning him, and wrapping him up again.

“Help me find the wheelchair,” Ben ushered to Mark. The younger man just stared at him, but Ben insisted with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. He was giving me and Tom space.

The two men left, and I turned back to Tom.

“I got shot because I was careless,” he admitted.

“That would be a first for you,” I teased.

Tom’s face fell, and he looked away.

“I was thinking about you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Me?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you being here alone. You’ve never been here alone. You could’ve gotten into all kinds of trouble. And I didn’t even leave you anything to do or even a note about when I’d be back. It must’ve been terribly boring.”

“I was fine, Tom… You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But I do it anyway.” He squeezed my hand. “I told you you’ll be the death of me.”

I laughed through fresh tears. 

“Don’t say that. You’re not gonna die. Not yet.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

Tom grinned and tried to sit up, but I urged him back down again. Mark and Ben returned with a wheelchair, and they helped him up from the tub, and then carted him to an elevator that I didn’t even know existed.

We ascended to the second floor and inched along to Tom’s room. Ben suggested that he and Mark take turns watching over Tom, but I told them—albeit a _bit_ too enthusiastically—that I could do it. I told them they needed their rest, and the men agreed, probably just realizing how tired they were.

After they bid us goodnight, I pushed Tom over to the bed, silently praying that he didn’t notice anything off with the sheets. We worked together to get him up into the bed, and I tucked him in as if he were my lover. Embarrassed to crawl into his bed again—this time beside him—I turned the armchair around and dragged it over to the side of the mattress.

“(Y/n), darling… You can sleep in the bed with me. I don’t bite.”

“I don’t want to impose… besides you just got dragged through the door with a bullet wound in your side,” I excused. “You need space to heal.”

“There’s enough space for me. You’ll wake up grumpy if you sleep in that old chair.”

“Tom… You’ve literally been shot.”

“I swear I didn’t do this just to push off our trip…”

“If you were stupid enough to get shot just to postpone a trip to London, I’d’ve been home weeks ago.”

Tom chuckled but then grimaced with pain.

“Don’t make me laugh, darling.”

“Sorry…”

“Make it up to me. Come here.”

My chest collapsed with his soft sincerity. I sighed and let up, but not before rounding the bed and turning off the lamp. I curled up on the side closest to the window and faced him. He was so sweet. It was as if we’d been together like this for ages.

“Get some rest, Tommy.” As soon as the childish nickname drifted into the air between us, I moved to apologize, but his massive grin stopped me.

“That was possibly the cutest thing you’ve ever done.”

“It just slipped o—“

“Don’t do that,” he soothed as his eyes fluttered shut. I could tell the pain meds were starting to kick in. He snuggled deeper into the blankets and let out a deep, contented sigh. “It was… cute,” he murmured as his body melted into the mattress.

I settled myself comfortably at his side, though I still didn’t dare put my arms around him. We weren’t anything. I had no claim to him. He was in a pain-induced psychosis, and it would be unfair of me to take advantage of that. I really shouldn’t have even agreed to stay with him. But as I lamented over my poor luck, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, surrounded by the scent of his own body and the soft freshness of the sheets.


	13. Chapter 13

Tom was healing faster than I thought imaginable, yet somehow it still felt like years before he could get out of bed by himself. Ben, Mark, and I had taken turns caring for him. I told them I could handle it, but Ben insisted that I was a guest in the mansion, and he didn’t want me to hurt myself by helping too much. Still, I couldn’t _not_ ; Tom only got hurt because of me.

I thought he’d be insufferable like this, but he was rather sweet when he let me help him. He kept cracking jokes about how he hoped he’d have a nurse as pretty as me when he was sent away to a home in his old age; the pain pills clearly released his inhibitions. I couldn’t help feeling flattered by him, but I knew he was still just drugged up.

It took weeks for him to be able to walk without pain and get himself around the mansion, but once he could, it was clear he was bored with being a patient. He’d find me in the kitchen or sitting room or foyer or his office and ask to join me in whatever I was doing. Today, he found me in the middle of making a pumpkin roll.

“Smells divine, darling.”

I smiled to myself. He was always quick to complement the way my baking smelled.

“It will be once it’s finished.”

“And _it_ is...?”

“Pumpkin roll. I wanted something a little spicy.”

“Spicy? The hell’s in it?”

I laughed as he padded over to me and stood by my side.

“Not _hot_. Spicy. Like, full of spice.”

“Ah, I see.” He peered over my shoulder at the counter top. “Need help?”

 “Um… well I’ve put the cake in the oven, so I’m just mixing the cream cheese frosting now. It’s not too complex.”

“I’d say you definitely need a taster, then.”

I raised my brow with a smile as I scooped up a little excess cream and held it out to him. He eyed me curiously, almost reluctant, before leaning forward to lick it off. My eyes widened as his velvet tongue brushed against my skin, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t tell if he was _trying_ to be sexy, but a shiver crawled down my spine as his eyes fluttered closed, and he purred with contentment. I really expected him to take it from me with his own finger, not suck off my hand.

“Amazing,” he admitted with a sly little smile.

“Oh, stop.” I turned away to hide my enormous blush. “It’s just cream.”

“Yet somehow it’s the most delicious cream I’ve ever tasted.”

God, his incessant flirting… How would I ever keep my composure with this impish man around? He leaned against the counter and watched me, but I still didn’t meet his gaze. He was a smart man; he absolutely knew what he was doing to me.

“What’s this?” He pointed to the sugar-soaked towel I’d laid out.

“That’s for the cake. You have to roll it up fresh out the oven so it’s still moist enough to not crumble. The confectioner’s sugar keeps it from sticking.”

“Ah, clever,” he mused and stood to his full height again. Tom let out a pained _oof_ as his body straightened. 

“Lemme see.” I frowned, turning to him and lifting his thin t-shirt. The wound had scarred over, leaving a small, round spot on his side. Barely noticeable. I grazed my fingers over it, not missing the soft inhale from Tom at my touch. “It looks good.” My eyes trailed down his torso, and I noticed a slight… tenting…

“It’s not that.” My eyes shot back up to his. “My back… I’ve been sleeping wrong or something. Maybe it’s the wheelchair.”

“Uh… yeah, uh... You haven’t had a run in a while either. Not been active.”

“What I wouldn’t give to _run_ right about now…”

I swallowed hard, trying to get his half-erection out of my mind.

“If it weren’t raining, I’d suggest a walk around the garden.”

He smiled at the sentiment.

“I’ve been reduced to a house husband. Ben and Mark are doing things on their own now while I’m stuck here doing paperwork and helping in the kitchen.”

I laughed, flicking his side.

“At least you’re warm and dry inside instead of being soaked and angry out there. Besides, nothing wrong with being a house husband. And it’s a taste of your own medicine,” I joked as I turned off the mixer. “I’ve practically been your own little housewife for the past few months. Actually, more like a caged canary who occasionally gets let out into the house,” I mused humorously. “But I’ve always kind of liked the thought of having a house husband. Actually, not even just a house husband. Like, he could have his own job and everything, but I don’t wanna have to be the one to keep the house nice and clean and organized by myself. I guess I want a _partner_. I always thought that was the best way to describe someone you’re in a relationship with. Partners… That makes it so clear that you’re in it together.”

I didn’t realize I’d started rambling or that he’d gone silent with thought until I’d finished scraping off the mixing paddle with a spatula. When Tom didn’t speak again, I turned to face him. His baby blue eyes were narrowed in thought, brow just so.

“Sorry for rambling, wow,” I breathed with a chuckle. “I guess I just really needed to get that out.”

As if he’d glitched and then gotten fixed, his face relaxed into one of amusement again, and he smiled.

“That’s alright. Never hurts to ramble from time to time.” He leaned forward and scooped some excess cream from the spatula with his finger and brought it to my lips. “Try it, darling. It’s delicious.”

I didn’t dare lick his finger. It was far too naughty after what happened in his bed those few weeks ago. I just stared at him and his finger, knowing if I did this, I would never come back from wanting him. I’d been able to deny it, even after the incident, but actually sucking on his finger? That was practically an admission of lust.

Jesus fucking Christ. I wanted him.

I reached up with a shaky hand and scraped the cream off him with my own finger. Disappointment flashed over his features as I fed myself the icing.

“Damn, I’m amazing,” I muttered with a little smile. I hadn’t made pumpkin roll in ages, and I was still able to make the perfect cream cheese frosting.

“That you are,” he agreed.

My face burned again. _Why can’t I be cool in front of him? Jesus fucking christ…_

“This won’t be done for another few hours… It has to cool so I can frost it, and then I have to roll it back up and let it set in the fridge.”

“How about I go pick a film for us to watch while we wait?” He shuffled over to the wine rack and tossed up a bottle of an expensive red into his grasp. Then, he plucked two crystalline glasses from the hanging glass fixture above the island. “Bring some popcorn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but not long now until... 
> 
> **_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) ___**


	14. Chapter 14

A clap of thunder stopped my heart, and my eyes snapped open. My breathing stuttered as I tried to figure out where the fuck I was.

Dark room.

Soft blankets.

Pillows.

Mattress.

Curtains.

My bedroom.

The last thing I remembered was watching _Parks and Recreation_ with Tom after I’d finished the pumpkin roll. _Did I fall asleep on the sofa? Did he put me to bed?_

I sat up and swung my shaking legs over the side of my mattress. _I wish he hadn’t left me alone,_ I thought as I stood and crossed my room to the door. The carpet of the dark hall was cool and dry against my clammy feet. Avoiding the squeaking floorboards beneath me was a feat in itself.

I found Tom’s bedroom door and knocked lightly, still worried about disturbing him with such a silly problem. Surely, he’d think I was being irrational and childish for coming to him after a nightmare. But no matter how embarrassing it was to cry in front of someone—especially a collected man like him—I couldn’t shake the tight, clenching fear from my chest. I needed him. 

After a minute or so of waiting, I whimpered in defeat and slid down the wall beside his door—pathetic as shit in my oversized t-shirt, flannel boxers, and too-big wool socks. Maybe he was in his office downstairs, but I didn’t have the energy to go look. I’d just wait by his door until he came upstairs.

“You really think he’s going to hear you?”

I jolted back at Mark’s voice, almost pinching a nerve in my neck as my head whipped to look at him. The darkness shaded his features, but I knew he had a stupid smirk plastered across his face.

“Fuck off…”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing with this little charade, but you don’t belong here. We both know it.”

I curled my knees up to my chest and stared him down.

“I’m not here on my own volition,” I spat.

“Ah, yes. It’s Tom keeping you here,” Mark sneered. “Do you think he’s attached to you? The little baker…”

“Shut the fuck up,” I sobbed. “I’m sick of your condescending shit! All you do is tear him down by toying with me, and it’s not fair.”

The door latch clicked as Tom opened it, poking his head out to see Mark before him.

“What the f…” He followed Mark’s glare down and saw me in a heap against the wall. “Oh, darling… Darling, what’s happened?” He reached down and pulled me to him. I shook against him as his strong arms surrounded me. The soft cotton of his shirt soothed my cheek as I lay my head against his chest. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the other man; he already looked down on me, so telling them I had a nightmare would only fuel his taunting.

“I don’t know why you keep her here,” Mark sneered. “She’s weak. You should’ve _dealt_ with her when you dealt with the Bernardi men.”

“She had nothing to do with it. I don’t kill innocent people.”

“Neither do I. But I _do_ take out the trash.”

The muscles beneath Tom’s shirt tensed and flexed under me. I tried to push him into his room, but he stood as firm as a brick wall.

“What do you get out of this? She’s done fuck all to you.”

“I like watching you two squirm. You can’t keep her here forever,” Mark growled. “You’ll slip up eventually. Or she’ll get hurt. Accidents happen.”

I could feel Tom stiffen again, but he turned until I was facing the inside of his room. I looked up just in time to see him punch Mark in the nose before he shut and locked the door behind us.

“Oops,” Tom breathed into my hair. “Accident.”

I exhaled shakily as he led me over to his bed. I sat on the edge, and he knelt before me.

“Tell me what happened,” Tom cooed, gently caressing my knuckles with his thumbs. “What are you doing up? Was it the storm?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Are… are you alright?” It was clear that Tom didn’t know how to comfort a grown woman who’d been scared in her sleep. I shrugged and looked away.

“I haven’t had a nightmare in years… I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” His right brow quirked up with a soft curiosity.

“My legs couldn’t move fast enough. You know, how it’s kind of like running through a wall of jelly…”

Tom chuckled and squeezed my hand. 

“I _do_ know.”

“I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t shake myself out of it.”

“What were you running from?”

“There was a man—tall, buff… Shadowed. He stalked me down the corridor. He didn’t have a face, but he looked like he wanted to hurt me. I was trying to find you, but somehow I knew you weren’t here. Nobody was.” I looked down at our hands in my lap and watched as his thumb soothed the back of my hand in the soft light of his lamp. “He caught me, and all I could do was cry.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

I looked up at the sound of this new nickname. Tom’s sparkling eyes bore into mine, staring down my soul. He was strong, warm, safe… His gaze unraveled every fear I’d had and wrapped it up in a little bow of safety, tucked away where I couldn’t reach. His other hand rested on the skin just above my knee, his thumb and fingers squeezing with a gentle reassurance that warmed my chest.

“You definitely need a vacation,” he mused. “How about London? I hear there’s this sweet little bakery that everyone’s dying to try.” His soft smile gleamed, and I laughed through a sniffle.

“Please?”

“I did promise, didn’t I?”

“Yeah…” I admitted bashfully.

Tom stood from his place at my feet, and I could see him in all his sleepy glory. He wore a light blue t-shirt and black sweatpants, which was clearly a stark contrast to his usual wardrobe of suits, dress trousers, and Louboutins. He looked cozy. He looked soft. He looked like everything I’d ever dreamed of in a man.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his waist in a tight and thankful hug. He tugged me up off the mattress and embraced me properly, allowing me to bury my face in his neck.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’ve been exposed to so much violence lately.”

“It’s alright, Tommy.”

I could hear his sharp intake of breath at the nickname as his arms squeezed me tighter.

“I never thought I would have to do anything like this. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

“But it’s true. I didn’t mean to uproot your life like this. It isn’t fair.”

I craned my neck to look at him and snaked my hands up his chest to his cheeks. My fingertips grazed over his prickly stubble and ghosted my nails across his cheekbones. The tension in his sharp nose and jaw seemed to melt away beneath my touch, as if freed of his anxieties.

“I forgive you.”

His eyes shined with tears as he pulled me against him again. We rocked in each other’s arms for what felt like centuries, just letting each other in. In truth, I never wanted to let him go. He really was a sweet guy. I know it’s so cheesy that we went from hating each other to being this close, but he made it clear that—despite his temper and… _unconventional_ profession—he only wanted to protect the both of us.

“Can I stay in here?” I asked, unsure.

“You didn’t even have to ask.”

I pulled away from him and smiled softly with appreciation. He motioned for me to climb into bed and followed after I’d settled onto my side of the mattress. Tom reached behind him and turned off his lamp, then rolled onto his back and tucked his arm around my shoulders to keep me closer to him. I laid my hand over his chest and snuggled against his side, synchronizing my breathing with the rise and fall of his stomach.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Mhm.”

A beat passed between us.

“Sweet dreams, (y/n).”

Drifting back to sleep had never been more effortless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') love a good secret softy


End file.
